


Rock

by wickedrum



Category: Heroes (TV), Sylaire - Fandom, Sylar - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:26:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3950578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrum/pseuds/wickedrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world will not die if Sylar can help it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock

**Author's Note:**

> an old thing :)

Disclaimers: I don't own any supernatural powers or anything else to do with Heroes.   
Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, romance, classical sickfic for the sake of it.   
Rating: nothing you should hide from.   
Pairing: eventual Sylair. Pemma.  
Main characters: Sylar, Claire, Peter, HRG, Mohinder, Emma.

At first, nobody noticed him. A man standing at the edge, at the top of a skyscraper. Who would care or blink in that direction even? All eyes and cameras were directed towards the large object, now visible with the naked eye, hurtling towards Earth. 

An asteroid, that two years of planning and bombarding has not managed to defer enough from its course. Seven billion people watched as the predicted to be most effective and last attempt failed to avoid collision. Those last minutes of life on the planet multiplied in importance, it was mostly only the television broadcasts' vacant eyes that remained glued to the skies. There were the automatic counters that registered deviation from what was expected. The space object slowed down and turned slightly. By the time it came to a complete halt, hanging like Damocles' sword over the American continent, all scientists were back on board calculating probabilities, forces, trajectories. Where did salvation come from? Laws of psychics and mathematics pointed to a rooftop, but it wasn't surprising that news crews found him first. NASA had exhausted all resources, amongst them, a collaboration with the Company, a firm specialized in employing people with superpowers. All efforts and abilities on the task were made public to quieten the panic somewhat, so how was it that nobody knew about this man who had powers obviously above all others? The open question appeared on the television screens, not that people would care about such details at such important times. The fate of humankind was still at stake, clearly at the hands of this man, tall and lean and focused, with sweat running down his face and the arm he used to convey his powers in the direction of the asteroid shaking slightly, ever more noticeable. 

The huge rock turned somewhat, yet you could see the man was struggling to keep it in place, let alone send it in an opposite direction. There was some renewed hope, but could any one person, however special, fight a threat like that all by himself? Not much chance, said the reporter who had ventured out next to him wearing boots with long heels, telling of his ashen color and shaky legs. He can not have much more energy left in him, the devoted newsperson concluded, cognizant of what false hope felt like. It was a good place to be. If the evolved human failed, which he was most likely to, she could just jump off the tall building there and then, she didn't want to wait to see and god forbid experience the impact. She was however, almost knocked over backwards by something airborne, what turned out to be the famous Peter Petrelli, previously working for NASA in a bid to halt the disaster. He currently obviously possessed the ability of flying, and dropped off one of the Company's directors, the also well known Noah Bennett next to him. 

Cameras eagerly focused on Peter, who disregarded them as usual. Without missing a beat, he stepped behind he tall superhuman struggling with the command of the asteroid and placed a steady hand on Sylar's shoulder. The serial killer did not blink, or gave any sign that he was aware of the new arrivals. The trained paramedic noted the perspiration on his brow and he was quite sure the would be saver of mankind was hyperventilating and radiating heat, all understandable signs of exhaustion due to telekinetic abilities taken to an extreme. With uttermost certainty, Sylar was weakened and real close to his body giving up on him. 

Without no time to waste, Peter initiated the empathic change, taking on the very same magnitude of telekinetic abilities the serial killer displayed. Having had the chance to be versed at the use of that particular power on a number of occasions during his previous existence, the young Petrelli's arm shadowed Sylar's, his palm forcefully transmitting fresh, invisible energy towards their target. 

"He makes it look so easy," Claire looked in awe to her television screen, the same as most others on endangered Earth and cheered as the asteroid seemed to have visibly distanced itself from their home planet. There was some additional joy added to her euphoria. Peter was the hero, it was clear. Although she knew it was Sylar's previous efforts that averted the disaster, to untrained, ordinary eyes it looked as if her uncle's deeds were more important. If her arch enemy planned to be the antichrist disguised in the robes of the savior of mankind, it will most likely not come to pass. 

Celebrations were well under way in every country, but the two men remained on the top of the skyscraper for a few more minutes, their hands directed at the object in space, still speeding it out into the black nothingness, making extra certain it will not return by the pull of any gravity or another force. Peter glanced at his companion. Sylar's eyes were closed and the way he was swaying and balancing on wobbly knees, it wouldn't be long before the empath would have to completely take over. Peter didn't mind. The threat was far, almost non existent. He barely felt the weight of the task when Sylar stumbled forward consumed and plummeted down into the abyss below. Noah didn't take as much time as blink. He knew what he had to do. With his coat swirling behind him, he pushed the button of the elevator for going down. They needed to get to Sylar before he came to and regained his strength and more importantly, before the media did. He could not be allowed to manipulate the whole world. 

Tbc

Chapter 2: Square One 

"You knew you could defer the asteroid, so your only reason for leaving it to the last minute and risking not actually achieving it, was your goal to benefit from being hailed as a hero," Noah accused the restrained Sylar, not mindful that his conversation partner was barely conscious and way too exhausted to bother with answers. "Thousands of people killed themselves not wanting to see the end of the world and millions suffered during the anarchy, chaos and violence of the last weeks. But why would a serial killer care about all that of course," the special agent mused. The answer was simple, not that Sylar would've ever admitted to his vulnerability, not even if his mind would've been able to connect two logical thoughts at the moment or able to lift the fog that weighted down his head, keeping it on the stretcher without it being necessary for him to be restrained. But he had solid reasons for not coming forward earlier to offer his help and mainly that he risked being taken down and advantage of by the reorganized company, as he had ultimately been indeed handled, just like he assumed he would, after it not had been taken into account that he had saved seven billion people. He had merely ever killed a few dozen, yet of course he knew Bennett was not willing to do the maths. 

Not withstanding, his reply was a semi loud and drawn out moan, not necessarily in any connection to the question asked. Noah paused nevertheless, giving him a chance to talk. It wasn't out of consideration, it was because he was trying to weigh up the state of mind of his greatest adversary to date. But given the only thing he could hear from Sylar was his moans quietening down, the company man continued, "luck changes you know. You could've been taken to a hospital and straight to the President the moment you regenerated, and be worshiped by the people as a demi god for the rest of their lives as you have planned. But it was me who got to you first. I told everyone we take care of our own and that we would be more able to give you the tending you needed as we have dealt with specials all the time. But don't expect them to rescue you," Noah delivered. 

Although Sylar didn't give any rational vocal signs, it was likely the man with glasses had his attention given his gaze and his sudden stillness as he listened. It felt good to have the upper hand on the serial killer for once. "The next thing the media were told was your full history. They were quite curious, so we let them on on the whole truth and we left nothing out from your mother to the opening of skulls. They weren't so sure about having the responsibility of you on their hands after that." Noah looked on long. If the prisoner was lucid enough to understand him, he didn't show any signs of it. Well, of course, he wouldn't. Sylar was the least likely to show emotion when he was hurt the most. So after a few steps ambling up and down by the flat stretcher in the middle of the room, Noah decided to let things be for the time being and join his daughter and Peter at the other side of the glass window. 

"He's not very responsive," Noah concluded, looking around at everyone. Although he considered himself the main expert on the matters of Sylar, some part of him was needing confirmation from the faces of the people around that indeed the case was, that the drugs administered were having the captive under control and no tricks were played on their expense. Somewhere in the back of his mind flashed up the memory of the incident when Sylar played dead and revived to get his revenge, and that was even before he acquired rapid cellular regeneration. 

"There are so many still open wounds and contusions on his body," Claire looked on confused, "your sedatives never worked so well before." 

"It's not the sedatives," Peter theorized, rubbing his forehead, "I have only worked with the asteroid for a few minutes and I feel just as bad and drained as when I had the healing power and after I have helped five persons back to life. I think he has been slowing the asteroid's speed for over twenty minutes and I'm pretty certain he's consumed all his energy. My guess is that if you continue with the sedatives, he will not regenerate. At least not this decade." 

Angela shook her head, "regardless of how much most of us in here would prefer that option, it can not transpire. The media has surrounded the building and demands an interview with him." 

"I thought we warded that hysteria off with releasing the files on Sylar's background," Noah looked up surprised. 

"We have indeed, for a while," Angela gave, "but people are still interested and there wasn't a more hot topic in the history of mankind. It will not be easy to keep them off our backs. Not to mention that I just got a call from the President asking if he could help in any way. But what he really wants is for us to make everything known to at least him if not the public as far as Sylar and this facility is concerned. I don't see any other choice than having to give them something else to chew on." 

"Like what, mom?" Peter frowned, not liking that tone of voice of his mother's that indicated he will not like the consequences either.

"We have to furnish and prepare a room with all the equipment a hospital room would have, put him on a proper bed and look our best as if we were treating him. It's up to us what goes into his iv nevertheless and it's up to us whether we'll ever make the mistake of letting him loose once again," she said with her usual air of superiority, certain that everybody will do as she says. 

Peter shook his head though, "that's not an easy charade to pull off. You'll have to end up helping him to look good." 

"Well, you're here, you're the paramedic. You will tell us exactly what we have to do," she waved in the direction of Noah, Mohinder and other personnel as if indicating that sort of thing was not her job and she should not be bothered with details. 

Peter paused a while, frowning, then pulled his phone out to start to punch in a text message, "I know who will help us acquire what we need at the hospital." 

Claire had her back to the little group of people by now, her eyes remaining trained at the plexi window of Sylar's cell where the killer was strapped down, technically naked, congealed to the table by his own blood. A sight that Claire always hoped to see, him powerless and without chance to harm her. "So we're gonna lie to like, the whole world?" She mused, more to herself, than anyone else, "sure, it wouldn't be the first time from this lot". Specials' existence had been denied for decades, then they were all deemed dangerous for a change. Why was nothing ever straight forward? Manipulation was her father and her grandmother's weapon, something she hated, probably for that very reason, something she knew Peter was not fond of either. 

"I wish there was another way, Claire," Peter agreed, "but right now, this is how we can keep Sylar here." 

tbc

Chapter 3: Impression 

"We can't show that image to the world," Peter shook his head, looking at the nicely arranged, speckless and newly painted room Sylar was supposed to by lying in comfortably. His wounds have been taken care of, stitched up and patched up. He was in a clean bed, surrounded by monitors and flowers. Yet comfortable he did not look. When unconscious, not just his face, but his entire body was radiating an air of feableness and when he was half conscious, he slowly trashed, as if in great pain. Very unlike the monster they wanted to make sure everyone knew he was. The impression the world would have was quite the opposite. 

"Do you have any other ideas?" His mother snapped in her cold and slow style, "the television crew is waiting right next door." 

"My friend Emma Coolidge from the hospital. She's practically a doctor, even if she does not acknowledge that herself. What's more, she is here in person as she helped to deliver the equipment I asked for. We'll have her in Sylar's room, tending to him. I think we need someone who is not personally involved." 

"Good thinking Peter," Noah jumped at the idea, "we need someone who would show the appropriate concern we are incapable of," he immediately started to look at it from a manipulative side. 

"She seemed indecisive enough," Angela thought about the brief time she had met the woman and she had instantly categorized her as weak, like she did with most people, "go talk to her now." That the girl could actually refuse, it didn't occur to her. After all, if a hesitant person was put under stress, they would immediately jump into what they've been talked into as they did not have the enormous time they usually needed to make what was the right decision by them, that is, if they would be able to figure out one at all. 

Peter, however, did not have his mother's twisted mind. All he asked of Emma was a simple favor, he did not think more of it, and ultimately, neither did the blond. Angela did allow herself a little smirk behinds the walls when everything played out as she wanted it to be for the short couple of minutes they allowed the cameras to transmit Sylar's condition. 

Dr. Coolidge played the part, being herself, well. Like a physician attending to her patient, she checked his pulse, other vitals and studied his data. And because what she could find there written down was not all that informative and there wasn't much she could do for him at the moment without getting some missing information from Peter first, she momentarily resorted to cleaning some sweaty smudge off Sylar's face instead. That she couldn't answer the questions of the reporter could easily be explained away with her being deaf and maybe the media frenzy will quieten down a little to give them a breather and some time to figure out their next step. 

Angela Petrelli showed the pretty reporter and her cameraman to the door herself, giving them a few otherwise unheard of smiles of hers and dropping a few, appropriate lines about how proficient the personnel is on specials, some of them having abilities themselves, without making the manner of their expertise known. She had no more thoughts regarding Emma after her uses for her expired for the time being. The woman with the disability, quite the opposite of an ability, was disregarded and discounted by her. That she would pose any difficulties, it did not occur to her. 

Emma however, having not lived a straightforward life, with questions upon questions and frustration and anger over things that could not be changed, had set out with a determination to do what's right about all that she touched if she could help it. Atonement for the accident with her nephew perhaps, or more like just an inborn character trait. She had went to medical school for the same reasons after all, to help people. Doing no harm had become an aim for her, given she felt like she had a lot to compensate for. Peter had offered to take her home, which she would've normally gladly accepted as she enjoyed spending time with him, but the situation with Sylar, not to mention the whole company's doings confused her and she was quite sure it wasn't because she had no hearing. An intelligent woman, who excelled at her medical classes, she had picked up on the deception immediately. She was told in a few words who Sylar was and that they needed to control him, but it also became obvious for her that nobody made a real attempt to help him improve and she couldn't understand why. Medical assistance had to be offered for criminals too, not to mention to ones who were capable of saving the planet. Emma nodded and let her friend take her to the elevator so that they were alone and she could raise her questions, "Peter," she articulated the best she could, mindful of how important she felt it was for her to be understood this time, "what are you pulling me into?"

The young Petrelli shook his head and took a hold of her arm soothingly, "you don't have to do anything. Even if my mother would ask you to do the same again, your medical expertise is not actually required." 

"Not that. It has been decided that man deserves nothing, even though he saved all of us. Who thinks has the power, the agency to decide such a thing." 

Peter winced. He knew how authoritative his mother and Noah Bennett could be, but this time he had to agree with them, "you don't understand. Sylar's an artful, dangerous and really powerful man. The moment we let off, he will use his powers against us and escape." 

"You're surprised by that?" 

"Look, I've been though this. Up nights in a row, thinking about Sylar and what we should do with him and the best, the mildest I can think of is keeping him in an asylum, where he belongs." 

"Thank you, Peter, I can make my own way home," she pointed to the car that had been readied to take her out the facility without letting the news crews see her, "you are the best, most giving person I ever met. I look up to you, you are inspiration to me. And then you do that. You don't see helping Sylar is a question of humanity," she said closing the door of the car. 

Peter ambled back dejectedly to find Claire staring at the secure window of Sylar's new spic-and-span show room, "it's not gonna work," the blond stated quietly. 

"What's not gonna work?" He stepped up next to her. 

"He just used his telekinesis to move that tray." 

Peter's forehead creased. Yes, the tray had moved closer to the wall, but merely a couple of inches or so. Sylar however still held his hand towards it, not managing to budge it an inch more. Peter's eyebrows shot up. The whole image seemed a bit ridiculous, comparing to his efforts with the asteroid earlier. 

Sylar didn't give up, but his body made him. Convulsing with shakes, his wounds were reopening, waisting the fresh bandages and bedsheets. Peter frowned and stepped to the door, "somebody needs to clean him up," he explained. In fact he wanted to do more than that. 

Tbc

Chapter 4: Conveyance 

Given that most human beings possess at least some restricted telepathic ability, it's not surprising that there were a number of evolved humans with the power of reading others' minds, prevalently as an alonestanding ability and not teamed up with mind control like Matt's, perhaps precognition, clairvoyance or interpersonal communication by means other than the senses. 

It wasn't an ability Peter enjoyed too much, but it was one that he had possessed more than once before and had considerable command over. With the additional advantage of two such evolved humans being kept in there at the company's lock down, it didn't take Peter much time to convince Noah it would be beneficial to look into Sylar's mind and find out whether there was any minuscule chance he would play along with that imminent interview everyone was expecting from him for any of his own reasons. If he wanted to be praised like a god for what he has done, he had to start somewhere and perhaps their goals were the same for a little while. Peter winced and shut himself off from Noah's thoughts and concentrated on the task. Even if the man with glasses was cognizant of the fact his internal monologue could be heard, the paramedic could not miss the vibes of tearing frustration the company man had with himself furthermost. But just moments later after stepping into Sylar's room, he stumbled back from it, panting. 

Claire stepped over to him worriedly. She always preferred when it was her ability that her hero possessed, so that he was safe, but this was not the time or place. Peter allowed himself a reassuring smile at her before turning to her father, "there are no thoughts in his mind," he established. 

Noah was startled a little, "he's not in a coma. He can't be blocking you!" He declared scandalously. He would believe it though at a drop of a hat. Sylar always had something up his sleeve and no amount of studying and experimenting on him so far revealed to them how he made his powers work and what else was he hiding. 

Peter shook his head no, "I couldn't think in there in that fog that clouds his mind. And neither could he. There's only one thing registering with any effectuality in his brain and that is pain. The sedatives blocking his abilities are not effective enough on his physical symptoms. I know that's not what they are for, but if you want him to have a conversation, or do anything like react to the world around him, you need to treat him." 

Angela's eyebrows lifted for a mere millisecond, "you are the paraprofessional. What is it that needs to be done?" 

"He needs blood, antibiotics, analgesics and anti-inflammatories. Proper assessment of his injuries like an ultrasound, cat scan and indicatively exploratory surgery of the abdominal cavity..." He was interrupted by his mother's saturnine and forced laugh, "you want to do that to a man who can heal by himself?" 

"I have to say, Peter is right," Mohinder said matter of factly, "the electrolyte abnormalities, hypoxia, elevated liver enzymes and their extent indicates that it's mainly not the glycimerine holding him back from being able to use abilities, but the physical inability of his nervous system to function and give out commands." 

"Are you saying I'm not brain dead when I die?" Claire theorized, "that my nervous system still needs to function for me to regenerate?" 

"To some extent, you are. But the more the damage, the longer it takes you to regenerate, right? Your body will restart whatever function it can first and make any substance it can produce, be that insulin, adenosine triphosphate, nucleoside diphosphate kinases or whatever and start replenishing everything from there. But what happens if all sources of energy were consciously and deliberately exhausted by being channeled into a specific direction?" Mohinder was going abstract and passionately speculative like only a scientist could, "well, we can only hypothesize as no human being could survive or even achieve such feat. It's like having died several times over in a short time," he finally summarized seeing that Angela was getting impatient with him. 

"Fine," she snapped, "you can arrange for whatever needs to be done," she said grudgingly. 

"I'm not really that kind of doctor who would know how," Mohinder shrugged, not at all minding that was the case. 

"No, but Emma can. I'll get her back," Peter offered, his mouth slightly turning to a smile. He knew it would please her and it would make him happy too to raise up to her expectations. Not to mention the possibility to be able to spend more time with her. 

Tbc

Chapter 5: Eavesdrop 

Peter was not one for doing nothing these days. Sitting in the corner of the room out of Sylar's vision in case his surroundings registered enough with him at any point to notice being scrutinized inside and out, his focus drifted from the subject at hand and he found himself watching Emma, who had busied herself with inserting tubes in every part of his patient's body and doing a full physical examination while Mohinder and a team of researchers helped her. 

With the company's policy still in the favor of secrecy, the physician was not told about Peter's latest switch of ability, but he had consciously tried to stop himself from peeking into Emma's thoughts for fairness' sakes. However, when his mind drifted, he had the occasional whiff of broken sentences coming from the modern day siren, but they mostly comprised of considering saturation levels, peritoneal lavages and evaluating x rays and the such without any personal thoughts at the moment, given that she was concentrating at dealing with a situation she considered beyond her expertise and experience. So Peter eventually relaxed, not putting any particular effort into streaming out her thoughts anymore as he wasn't likely to stumble over something he wasn't meant to. "I wish I would deserve that man," she suddenly glanced at him thinking without warning, "so noble and athletic! I wonder how his penis looks like. Only now that he's one of the saviors of mankind, the whole world will be at his feet from beauty queens to Noble prize winners, whichever kind he's into. More important than the President!..." 

Peter's eyes went wide and he put his face into his hands to conceal his blushing. She'd probably change her mind about him pretty quickly again if she knew he was invading her privacy and he dutifully severed the connection in panic. Thankfully he didn't have to dwell much on what happened because of noticing another presence budging at the outskirts of his mind's plane. Sylar did not have any logical thoughts as he woke from the induced sleep they have put him under while they tended to his internal injuries. Unclear sensations and overpowering feelings of confusion slowly built up to the first vaguely coherent thought: am I in space? Have I been blasted into space when the asteroid collided and regenerated there once my intuitive aptitude figured out how to, even under such unfavorable circumstances? How long could that have taken? Where could Claire be? I need to get to her in case she's in space too and without my fix everything abilities her body will not be able to adjust outside the atmosphere. I wonder if Peter took on cellular regeneration as well before the end. Surely Claire would've wanted him to. I'll have to find both of them in fact. But there's too bright here for space. I am breathing and it is air and it's through a tube! But if this is a hospital where are the nurses and why is it I can't levitate up, melt the bed and get out of here? Why is there this muddle on my brain that stops me reaching out to figure all this out? I felt like this before and it was at Primatech. So this is the company. It has to be. Which means Noah. His bleak and resolute, unforgiving face and stiff, inflexible manner I've had the pleasure to experience...not so long ago! Yes, the company's most annoying agent ever had been there with his accusations and claims, having absolutely no idea of how to take another person's perspective! I remember now! I did it! I stopped disaster! And then they took me. Well, in the interest of not having to put up with the Noah's rigidity any longer, I should get a move on and see how I could get out. Going by the way I'm feeling, the tremor and the washed out emptiness, it was glycimerine they must've used on me and likely in large doses. They must've figured it out my body could adapt, but to my knowledge so far nobody came up with a better ability inhibitor. Which means there would be enough in my system to kill an elephant in an instant. 

Peter Petrelli stayed rooted in his corner, trying to remain even more inconspicuous than before. So far, his presence was not noted and neither was the departing medical team earlier. Emma wanted a discussion with the professionals about what to do next and preferably a briefing where they would let her in some facts about evolved humans she was still missing. It was nothing else she could do unless she was made aware of the special physiology of people with abilities. Their departure barely registered with Peter either, Sylar's inner world was more fascinating and his internal dialog unexpected to say the least. The thought process regarding the end of the world scenario was quick, it was obvious that he had previously imagined it many times and there had been several different versions. Perhaps it would've not been surprising if Sylar would've wanted Claire around to play with, but he was puzzled about the killer's concern for Peter himself. It wasn't as much that he would've wanted to bring them back to life, but the fact that he had tensed up thinking about not finding them. 

The paramedic smiled at Sylar's conception of Noah, it was all very characteristic of the company man. As for wanting to get out of here, well, under the circumstances, who could've blamed him. There was some important information in there as well. Sylar was right, they did not come up with anything more powerful than glycimerine so far and that being the case, once his energy levels replenished a little, there would be no real chance of holding him back on the long term.

Sylar was the most powerful man on the planet, that Peter knew, however, it was hard to accept it. All the more reasons to get through to him on a psychological, emotional level before they could not do so by force any longer. Peter was distracted once again, this time by a strong emotion coming from the prisoner's direction as he looked up to the observation window. The former empath had to shake his head to clear it as its tenderness was threatening to overpower his senses and make him all jelly and weak. 

Deep and warm, but profoundly passionate, there was an affectionate concern pulsating in Sylar's heart, fueling an intense need and desire that even unfulfilled, gave him great pleasure. What coursed through him was not new, but a well versed attachment he experienced at the sight of her, in connection to her. It was a feeling Peter could not identify and define any other way than it being love. Claire stood at the other side of the window. 

Tbc

Chapter 6: Callback 

It wasn't the first time Peter deemed the company's methods incorrect and it would not be the last. He was neither a team player, or trusted others enough not to have his own agenda. Sylar was technically invincible and any attempts to get rid of him, however long that interval may be, will be temporary. His mother kidded herself on if she thought she had any chance of keeping Sylar under control and it was a dangerous, counterproductive game too. There had to be another way though and if there was, Peter was determined to find it. The route offered itself quite naturally only after half an hour of being able to be inside and analyze Sylar's mind. Oh, boy, in some ways how pitiful the killer was and how wrong he went about achieving what he wanted.

Peter of course was no expert on happiness, nor relationships either, but he was sure and intent he will learn a great deal while mitigating the lives of others. He had to, if he was to be the man Emma imagined him to be. While accumulating powers mainly to make himself feel better about himself being so powerful, what Sylar would've really wanted is appreciation from others. A connection, a friendship, somebody to care. Peter felt his desire to be loved. It was ridiculous, absurd, pathetic. You would think Sylar would've killed and tortured enough people in such twisted and brutal ways, he would understand that it was impossible for people to regard him in any other way, than a serial killer, at least anyone who knew about his past. Yet the desire for romance was clearly there as a driving force in his subconscious, and his hope that someone will understand him and somehow he also thought his chances were the greatest with Claire. 

The ex empath had to laugh. All this time when they tried to defeat Sylar and the most anyone ever got to having him under control was when Angela made him believe she was his mom and Peter his brother. When he thought he belonged somewhere. But creating a similar situation this time could not be done by lies, not just because of his ability of detecting lies, but also because it could only work on the long term if everyone believed in it. While Peter's ultimate weapon has always been love, putting it into practice was another matter. Hell, he will struggle to extend that sentiment to his most significant foe ever, how can he ask the same of others? Thankfully it wasn't himself that had to make the first move approaching Sylar, it had to be the little blond he came to acknowledge and care for as his niece, especially that he was sure the taller man would neither want to or would be able to hurt the young woman. For the time being, Peter had to drink wine and preach water in a hypocritical manner. There was enough time to think about an eventual next faze if and when they got to it. 

Claire's wide open, sparkling green eyes and her defiant stance told the story of her reaction to Peter's suggestion more than her thoughts did as the latter came to a complete halt in astonishment and horror. She had heard of the idea of becoming Sylar's friend, helper, lover, wife even, but that was from the mental case of a killer himself, and not a young man she thought well of and respected as her favorite hero. She shook her head uncomprehending, her forehead creasing in a disbelieving manner, "me. With Sylar. How do you imagine such a thing? How does it occur in your head?" 

"I wasn't me who it occurred to, remember? He's in love with you." 

"In love," Claire repeated, disbelief making her voice flat as if devoid of emotion, "as if I didn't know he thought I was special, that he was obsessed with me, that he somehow imagines us together till the end of time, that we are supposed to be so alike! Yes, he wants me in his bed, I'm sure, but love?" 

Peter shook his head slowly, uncertain. Yes, he had felt Sylar being in love in quite the same way he himself defined the emotion when unconditional, but how that was possible, he couldn't comprehend himself, "even evil can be capable of love and some measure of compassion, but that in itself doesn't make the person good. He can have desires and passions and can want to hold someone close and not let them go." 

"Now that is the part I'm really worried about." 

"Look, he might not be entirely capable of love, but he still knows of the benefits of it. Which means he would go at least half way to meet you if you gave him as much as an inch." 

"You want me to manipulate him, is that it? Become a company man, woman, whatever and do the dirty business? Nathan, Angela, my dad, maybe, but I would've never expected you to ask me such a thing." 

"Claire, that is it, the key," Peter looked into her eyes to ensure the small woman was in no doubt that he was still more or less the same person and had the same moral grounds as the young man who once so clumsily tried to save her, "I am asking. Which means I would only ask if it was the only and right thing to do."

She held his gaze intently, but paused. "Do you even know how to walk away from a lost cause?" 

Peter could feel a warmness in her thoughts towards him, a concern for his wellbeing. He opened his arms wide and shrugged, "yup, that's me. You don't have to as much as touch him. Just talk to him, see where that goes." 

Claire rolled her eyes, but started in the direction of the hospital room imitation cell. "Love, my ass," she spat bitterly, frowning. 

Peter sighed. He was never sure enough of himself not to worry whether his decisions were right and several different scenarios were calculated out in his head pertaining possible consequences of his actions. He was gambling on Sylar as the only option. 

Tbc

Chapter 7: Lambaste 

Claire strode up to the patient's bed, looking a bit dissident. She was certainly only doing what she was asked to and nothing more. "Why did you save us?" She snapped without any to and fro. 

"Us who? I didn't save you little Claire. You never really need saving, did you forget?" 

She looked up to the heavens. Why was it that her conversations with Sylar always had to be so convoluted and marked by double meaning? "Why did you want to save the planet?" 

He looked at her like she had two heads, "cause without people it would not be much fun? Should I hunt animals? Any surviving bacteria perhaps?" 

"What are your intentions with your newly found fame?" The blond continued with her investigation, knowing that it wasn't really Sylar's answers that mattered, but what he was thinking when he heard them. Peter would be listening to those in the background. 

"Who said I wanted fame?" Maintaining a shapeshift would've taken valuable energy away from telekinesis. 

"What is it you want?" 

To be loved. "Out of here," he raised himself on an elbow. The pain in his middle where those weird and inexplicable surgery scars were, intensified and he closed his eyes for a moment until it passed to some extent. 

"What is it you want from the world outside?" She refrazed the question. She had been told to keep prompting him to cogitate about the most important things in his life. Indeed, what would he want from the world outside when all the people alive who mattered to him in some positive or negative way were his very captors and the only one who he hoped to play part in his future was standing right in front of him. 

He pointed to the door nevertheless, willing it to move, perhaps out of habit of asserting himself, he didn't know, but all that happened was the nausea building up in him. Realizing he was threatening to look very uncool in front of Claire by throwing up, he lay back and put in some effort to summon a faint smile instead, "I'm just becoming extremely stiff and sore from lying here, so I'm thinking a change of scenery will do the job." 

A frown creased Claire's forehead. It felt like she wasn't getting anywhere with his enigmatic answers, but maybe Peter will with his thoughts. Next item she should be focusing on. The news crews. "Are you all right for an interview with CNN?" She bit her bottom lip. It was a just question, given the circumstances, but it came out a bit wrong, with a bit too much sympathy and concern for him in her voice. She wondered if he was even aware that his panting sounded like a quiet, wailful groan as his arm dropped lifelessly by his side. She shook her head. Did she really need to treat him like a human being simply because she had this caring side to her? 

Sylar looked at her curiously with a certain puzzlement in his eyes. He was quite sure he had not heard that tone of voice from her, at least not directed towards him. But as his mind wasn't as clear as it could've been, he couldn't quite place the phenomenon. He didn't need any reminders when it was so hard to forget what it was like to kiss her and he had tried so hard. "What have they done to me? Why is it I'm feeling so bad?" 

Claire's eyebrows rose, "perhaps you would feel worse if you used your body in a physical sense to stop the asteroid, don't you think? But going against it all by yourself was nevertheless pretty stupid, especially if it's you were talking about? There are at least a dozen people with telekinetic abilities who could've joined forces." 

Cooperation! Like anybody ever wanted to work with him if they weren't forced to. His gaze wavered, he was having trouble concentrating. The tune of his father's shop's own grandfather clock flitted through his mind, almost sounding out all else. To overcome the lighheadedness, he took a couple of deep breaths. "Their help would have been negligible," he slurred through the buzzing and humming in his ears. It was the truth, at least partially. He was able to ask for assistance if he needed it, that wasn't it, it was the inevitable rejection he feared. If he didn't use his powers, nobody took him into consideration. 

"What's the matter?" Claire noted his shakiness, "should I call the doctor?" 

Sylar would've laughed out sardonically if he could have. What doctor? Doctors around here did not signify anything good, Mohinder included, if you could call him that. His eyes dampened a little with the sheer magnitude of his self pity, not as much regarding his current situation, more so concerning his destiny to be alone till the end of days and more, atonement or not, apparently. He had saved the entire human race and was not forgiven. What else could he do? Was self destruction even possible? He will have to think about that, what options were there. Suddenly he could feel the slight weight of a hand pressing on his arm, soft and little, and very gentle, "are you in a lot of pain?" Claire probed him intently, making him very confused. That look in her eyes, so tender and merciful? 

He liked it, but could not relish it for his scars were throbbing painfully. "Yes," he said faintly, panicking. Although he could still feel her hands on his skin, he had the sensation of falling back and away from her any second now and into an unclimbable, dark pit, where he was to stay for the rest of his life. 

The little blond turned to the observation window, "I think he had passed out." 

tbc

 

Chapter 8: Plow 

Claire found Peter in the same side room she had agreed to talk to Sylar previously, with his face buried in his hands. She turned to the tap, fumbling with a cup and swiveled a guard's chair round so she could sit as well. She didn't particularly want to start the conversation, she was in fact apprehensive about what her uncle was going to say. She had always been avoiding thinking about Sylar much other than dealing with him when she had to as it would've been too hard for her comfort to acknowledge those similarities he had mentioned when he visited her on campus. Cause if they were that similar, was she as pathetic as he was? 

"You know you aren't!" Peter looked at her reprovingly, making her wince. In all the tension she had momentarily forgotten that her hunky uncle could currently hear her internal dialog. "How could you even contemplate that?" He reproached, "you were not raised by your biological family, but their reasons for it were neither tragic, nor violent. You were perhaps not understood by your adoptive parents, but can many people in this world say they are vaguely on the same page as their mom and dad? As for building walls, he has a good reason to do so, while you don't. And if you want and need me to go on, which is ridiculous in itself, a major difference between you and him is that you're capable of free will, and he isn't. You are not your ability. You would've been many times dead, out of no fault of your own, if you didn't have your healing, but weren't you this strong, intense and opinionative individual before you found out cellular regeneration existed? Sylar's scared to find out who he is without his powers. They rule him, control him, they are his master to the extent that oftentimes he is incapable of independent thought. I had a hunch this might be the case as I have experienced a form of powers going to my head when I had my empathy, but now that I've been able to listen to his thoughts I know that he is an unfortunate marionette instead, driven by the force of his original ability, a mechanism that takes control without him necessarily wanting it to." 

"Oh. And all this time I have been calling him a psychopath in his face when he has split personality instead, but hey, one of those personalities is a psychopath anyway, so.." 

"No, Claire. I'm not sure there's a word for his disorder as the science of abilities is pretty much in its diaper years, but he does not lack empathy and nor does he lack a sense of right and wrong and therefore psychopath is not what he is. As for the split personality, you might be close to the truth, but not in a classical sense. Explosive anger and other emotions without seemingly any cause, tick, derealization, tick, having no control, flashbacks of trauma, highly foreshadowing individual, headaches, it's there. But the abuser itself in this case is the ability itself and as long as he's still attached to it, in any physical or psychological sense, I'm not sure what anybody can do and he knows it too. It's what drives him with any self destructive, desperate behavior." 

"Fine, so he's a nutcase with a buried, good side somewhere that wants to come out. Doesn't that make him a nutcase nevertheless?" 

"I don't know what to say, Claire. I need to get rid of this mind reading ability, cause it's rather confusing. I'm starting to feel like I have a split personality myself. The observance of his inner experiences happened with such intensity that it felt like his hurt was mine, and I'm not talking about his injuries. At this moment in time I am inclined, however crazy it sounds, to declare that I know he wants to be a good person, if not for anything else, but to be loved." 

"Don't tell me you're planning on me to tame him." 

"Apart from the fact that you're the only one he'll let it be done by and that you're also the only one who will be safe cause you can not be killed, have you got anything better to do? I haven't heard you saying at any point you have even figured out what exactly you want to study at college. You can not hide behind normalcy because you know yourself it is not right. I know you a little by now, Claire. As long as you can do something, you will do it." 

"You're annoying Peter, you know that! You wanna say you got this figured out all by yourself, or did perhaps a peek into my thinking help? I'd appreciate if you asked permission before intruding." 

"That's the thing. I can not say I'm truly in control of this one myself, it's like everybody else is intruding my awareness whenever they think. I don't know how long I can go on like this, but next time I'll have to borrow this ability from someone who has a slightly different version. No wonder this mind reader had to be locked up in here!" 

"You want me to go?" 

"Please. I need to be alone for a break!" 

tbc  
Chapter 9: Feather Bed 

Peter was right. She had known all along that she could not hide behind a mask of normality, ignoring the moral responsibilities that came with being virtually indestructible. Because she didn't like the implications, she refused to admit it or even verbalize it to herself till after her conversation with Gretchen where her roommate expected her to disregard what she felt like was her obligation, to protect those she could. It would've been what most ordinary people would've done, yes, not taking on the world all by themselves, but she wasn't ordinary now, was she? In certain circumstances it felt nice to pretend so, but you had to know when to snap out of it. It amused her a little what she found out. 

The man had a funny way of showing he loved her. She did remember she had trouble placing Sylar's uneasy expression back when he saved her from the vortex and he'd always treated her with a special respect he did not give anybody else, along with involving her in his plans. Even Samuel's ink showed her. She wondered if the tattoo picture had changed after he'd visited her or was it still her that signified his destiny, etched into his skin. Once the thought appeared in her mind, the petite blond had to see it for herself. She took the corridor purposefully in between quiet night guards to the secure room Sylar was kept in. 

Given his upper body was unclothed so that his heart rate could be monitored easily and his injuries were well accessible, she only had to go round to the other side of the bed and turn his arm a little. Claire took an apprehensive, quick, deep breath and closed her eyes in dire anticipation. The world stood motionless for a moment when she realized the figure was still there and she gulped to try to manage her whirling emotions. He had come to her for guidance on how to connect to people and it was continuingly the case that she was supposed to help him or better said, if she was to believe the precognitive ability that Sylar took from Lydia manifesting itself in the ink, it was going to happen, so she may as well get on with her ill fate and get it over with. 

She placed his hand down back onto the bed, staring at him as if he was a giant puzzle she was meant to figure out. Claire has never seen him in this light before, defenseless, exposed, tormented and virtually naked. She scrutinized the new sight, intrigued. Most people seemed innocent when asleep, and it wasn't any different with her personal bogeyman either. His face took on a plaintive expression and his bare chest only rose and fell a little. She shook her head in uncertainty about how she should treat this man. There was some part of her that wanted to deny his very existence, and another part of her longed to understand him. She wasn't even sure if it was so that she could help him, or whether it was so that she could help herself. 

Sylar shifted in his sleep, drawing her attention to the ripple of muscles engraved in his chest and the gentle trail of dark hair snaking down the lower part of his tensed up stomach, disappearing into the waist of those pajama trousers they've put on him that seemed so out of place on him for her. If nothing else, Sylar had always been quite stylish. Claire had unconsciously licked her lips, admitting to herself how pleasing to the female eye he was in shape, but she convinced herself it was just an objective assessment, like someone would make if they saw a perfect racehorse. Her gaze wondered downwards all the same, staring him down, involuntarily looking for that bulge under the thin covers. Not unsubstantial, she considered, given he was unconscious, especially. 

She stood there with widened eyes for a while and that was how she noticed that goosebumps prickled his skin now. Deciding that near naked he must've been cold, she set out to pull the covers higher on him. Her hand hovered above the rim of the fabric before grabbing it with a few fingers and her skin brushed against his bare, flat abdomen and the small patch of hair on the middle of his chest very slowly as she gently slid the blanket to cover up his nipples, avoiding at all cost to wake him under the circumstances. He could've found her to care. Her hand rested on his toned stomach, now under the material for one moment longer, then she pulled her hand away somewhat in a hurry and hid it behind her back when she felt him flinch. Then his fingers twitched, but just at the ends. Never mind caring, if he came to right at this moment, he would've found her losing a fight with some goddamn female hormones. She cursed herself. She was supposed to be Little Miss Indestructible, so why was it she was not completely able to control some so obviously merely primal urges? Her heart jumped as she saw a glint from the corner of her eyes and she turned her head warily to find the flicker of light was caused by reflections on her dad's horn rimmed glasses as he started moving towards the stairs. How long could he have been standing there? How much did he see and more importantly, how much of her indecent thoughts could he have sensed? Thank God Peter wasn't there too! The idea of potential prying relatives would've cooled down anyone like a cold shower and the perfect blond blew the air out and raced after her father, in the main thankful that she was shaken out her inappropriate demeanour. 

She didn't even notice that as she departed, her eyes darted back to him once more, as if checking if he was still half naked under the covers. Sylar was squinting. Emerging from the dark, bottomless, dank pit of his malady, he felt like even the dim light irritated his eyes. He was dizzy, disorientated and nauseous, but he knew one thing for sure. Who those warm fingers sliding, that very pleasant touch sneaking up his naked body belonged to. Wait. Naked body? Sliding up? But from where? When his first sensations registered while in the process of coming to, her hand was below his waist. He quickly lifted the blanket and saw what he was already feeling, that his aching manhood had started to strain. What on earth was Claire up to? 

tbc

Chapter 10: Projection 

The next morning Claire walked into the facility, thinking about her mindslip the day before. She'd always thought that a man would have to be a little bit more than handsome and intelligent before he impressed her. How delusional could she have been if she had forgotten all he did to her just because he looked vulnerable and miserable and she saw some exposed flesh. Of course it didn't help matters that nobody had ever touched her in an intimate way, that she was a virgin, hungry for experience, the exploration of loving, the feel of a soft, warm body covering hers and most importantly one of those somewhat mysterious penises she mostly only've seen at anatomy class... 

She shook herself out of the visualization of fantasy body parts, with some difficulty, blushing to herself a little. She made a mental note that she will have to acquire some sort of sexual experience as she sometimes felt ridiculously attracted to men she didn't think she could have a long term relationship with. Perhaps waiting for the perfect man and the perfect moment was not the best idea for college student, but she would've wanted at least one thing in her life to come through she idealistically once imagined as a young girl and that was how she could end up a untouched twenty years old. Almost bumping into Peter on the corridor quickly returned her thoughts to the present and she almost shrieked in fluster. Did Peter hear her thoughts on being a virgin? See those intimate body parts she imagined so out of context? And most importantly, did he know she had to catch herself hankering after Sylar's tall, dark and handsome features? 

Peter seemed bleary-eyed, rubbing his face. The mimic didn't look like one who had just been shocked out his socks by somebody else's thought process, rather one who'd want to fall asleep. "He wants you," Peter stated flatly, as if too tired to be bothered by elaborating. 

"Who?" Claire jumped. Her head was so much not in the right place that momentarily she didn't even know who her young uncle was talking about. 

"Sylar," Peter gestured airily, "he's not a hundred percent, but he has healed overnight. My mother wants him to do the interview, but without disclosing the company's past or present. He has agreed to the terms, with the condition of you being by his side. His words." 

"By his side? Meaning what?" 

"Meaning be there to help him if he needs help." 

"How do you know that's what he means?" 

"I was listening in. He wanted someone there who doesn't have a hidden agenda, a person he can trust and that seems to be you. I can't tell you anymore cause I really had to temporarily get rid of that power, immediately after! Different guards were planning on how to cheat on taxes or what to eat for breakfast, along with others dreaming about winning on mega millions and the possibility of coming out the closet and all at the same time! Not to mention that my mother also arrived and I was in no mood to find out that her unfavorable opinion of me had not changed, but no such luck. Emma gave me an encouraging squeeze of the shoulder seeing how I had this headache and I was more than happy to switch to her power for a breather. Can't say the sick headache disappeared though," he frowned. 

Claire smiled at him, happy that Peter's current power meant none of her incident thoughts were out in the open. "For your headache," she hugged him briefly, but warmly, allowing him a transfer of her cell regeneration ability, then continued to her initial destination, contemplating the new information. 

So Sylar trusted her, no matter she tried to kill him numerous times. Was it that love was blind, or did she earn it with the fact that she didn't intend to complicate his life instead as most others did. The beautiful young woman opened the door leading to the prisoner curiously to find the collector of abilities sitting up with pillows behind his back, watching her intently as she strode up to him. He was still quite pale with fatigue, the whiteness of his skin making a sharp contrast with his black hair and dangerous, dark eyes. That look was predatory, she established, but since he was in no position to hunt and already had her ability, she realized it only could've been in a sexual sense that somehow, did not scare her. If Sylar would've wanted to have his way with her, take her by force, he could've done it any time using his powers. It was obvious that he was angling for a favorable reception from her part, even if it took him centuries to achieve it. A certain pride welled up in her. She was surely good looking enough to be a cheerleader, but she knew that wasn't mainly what attracted Sylar. She had impressed him with her strong will, determination and a compass of morality Samuel Sullivan could never have.

"So here we are," he intoned, "as I told you, our destinies are entwined and you can not escape destiny." 

Claire however, did not intend to continue with his cat and mouse games, "you're in love with me, is that true?" 

Sylar's eyes widened for a split second, then uncharacteristically to his composed and structured, control hungry insanity, he noticeably blinked abashed. Claire could've sworn she did really get to see the pools of his soul for just a moment, revealing a flicker of pain, nothing more. 

"I can't love you," he declared matter of factly, as if to himself, "as love, like freedom, happiness and trust, does not exist. Not in our world." His tone was even and emotionless, yet his very words reflected his belief came from how much he had suffered in his life. 

Claire opened her mouth to object. She felt like nobody should feel that was the truth. Besides, she would normally automatically argue with anything Sylar said anyway. But then she realized she was pretty hazy on the concept of love herself. There was once an idealistic time roundabout when she just started hight school when she fell for the all-out loads of guff she had been told about in class, hogwash like democracy, justice, selflessness and yes, love, but none of her relationships seemed to have mirrored the theory. Her mother and Lyle practically ran to the hills when they found out the truth, whether they would openly admit it to anyone or not, along with many others. Her father could only see things from his own perspective, Peter felt propriety was more important, than physical attraction and Gretchen, well, Gretchen could not and would never really want to understand her world for being too scared of it. It was so, that Claire did not reply to that one, in silent agreement. Peter had said that Sylar had feelings for her, so what? She already knew that and it obviously wasn't love as it did not exist, "why do you want me here?" She reformulated the question, "some sort of game? Am I a constant challenge to you who you need to win over to feel more regent perhaps?" 

"You prefer the real thing as opposed to games?" With her hands on her hips offensively, Claire looked at her opponent taking stock of him. He was annoyingly handsome, she would have to admit that. Her imagination ran away with her for a moment again, visualizing how a life with Sylar would be like for anyone he chose to treasure and protect: safe, passionate and wild. But it only appealed to her for a little while, "I prefer to know the rules of the engagement." 

Sylar turned his palms up as they were, lying in his lap, giving himself over apparently as truthfully as if that was the only available option. His tattoo was clearly visible, but by chance, not by design, "I need you," he put the emphasis on the latter word, obviously believing it too. Evolved human abilities did not lie, so neither did Lydia's form of combined empathy and precognition and Claire knew it too. 

Tbc

Chapter 11: Sentiency 

Claire squirmed inside as the well known faces of a mainstream news crew filed in to set up their equipment. She had spent years trying to remain in the obscurity of an ordinary school girl's existence, with not very much success. Of course after abilities became a public freak show as opposed to her private in the brave new world, in the common bid of all humans to deflect the asteroid from its course, it had become nigh impossible for her to remain anonymous, along with hundreds of other specials. Withall, she had not been the center of attention as much as she will be now, and that bothered her more than perhaps appearing as if in solidarity with a serial killer, even if God forbid, people watching the screens assumed she was his girlfriend. 

Miss Exclusive, the famous Grace Fletcher, or in other words the lucky, pretty-pretty woman, who had the good fortune to be able to cover Sylar and Peter's attempt to avert disaster at the rooftop, standing next to them, arrived patently excited and with a big smile on her face. She was sightly for sure, with a certain impertinence in her behavior, so characteristic to reporters, but one that reminded Claire of Elle Bishop. The shorter blond glanced at Sylar, but he was too busy buttoning his shirt up to look decent for his television appearance. Claire however, determined that this Grace was one to watch. With a smile like that, you never knew what lay behind. It was when she decided to sit on Sylar's bed. She had several reasons for it of course. A competitiveness against the taller beauty that urged her to make sure Grace knew Claire wasn't someone you could push aside for one. Right there, she was in a good position to interrupt Sylar if his words or actions ventured in any direction that wasn't desired, not to mention she noticed that his hands were starting to shake when reaching the lower buttons and it took longer and longer time for him to manage pushing them through the holes with the added difficulty of iv tubes still being attached to the back of his hands, as if that little effort would've worn him out. The college student reached out quickly and determined, without much thought, her fingers only brushing against his for a slit second as she got them out the way. Cause there was no need to spend any more time under the uncomfortable circumstances of the prying eyes of some media vultures, than it was necessary, for either of them. 

Sylar drew in a sharp breath, bewildered. His hands fell away with the startlement and he glanced up at her, needing the visual confirmation that she really was there. He followed her hands with his eyes then, her aura intermingling with his when she leaned close, her mouth mere inches, fingernails lightly scratching his skin as she worked. It lasted a few seconds the most, yet it was enough for the skilled intuitive man to hone one of his newest abilities in on her. The intravenous lines were not just a physical predicament, getting in his way. His captors told him he was merely given fluids and electrolytes to help him stabilize, but he didn't need lie detection to know that wasn't true. Somewhere along the line, the better he got, the better he started feeling, more and more glycimerine got into the mix they delivered into his veins. They were trying to control him as usual, and as usual, drugs would not completely do the trick. Using any ability took more effort, energy he at the moment did not have very much of at his disposal. Time did not come yet to escape, he may as well take advantage of any hospitality he may offered, especially if Claire was part of the deal. Her closeness however, switched on his power of empathy on spontaneous instinct and he inhaled her hopes and dreams, feelings and desires with her scent. Lydia's ability suited him really well, it was akin to his own empathy, something that tied in with his intuitive aptitude and insight into the brain. She was on edge, there were too many things swirling in her head, making him dizzy. She was so determined, that young girl, it almost felt like it was her against the whole world she didn't need to hate so much for not accepting her for what she was. She so desperately needed to connect to be able to get rid of this hatred, relate to someone, unite for a common goal, join others like her in this. It was exactly what made Sylar's head spin. Cause when she thought of these desired relationships, those little synapses in her brain that coined the term, were hooked up with visualizations, visions of man and woman joined together, flesh meeting flesh, passions burning hot. Claire was turned on right now, there was no question about it, and she also seemed to have had the feeling more permanently. What's more, this wall of sexual frustration was responsible for quite a lot of her negative emotions. 

"We're on air in five seconds," Grace's camaraman announced. 

Tbc

Chapter 12: Joy/Jaw of the Lambs 

"Ladies and Gentleman! Viewers! Citizens of the Earth as one! Welcome to one of the most momentous times of humankind and meet our champion, a watchmaker called Gabriel Gray who stopped the end of everything! Gabriel, the able hero of God he is, but Gray he is not!" 

Claire's sexy, thin eyebrows shot up in dislike. Surely Grace was one of the creme of sensational journalism, but did she even realize she was talking in rhyme?? And Gabriel Gray, who's that?? Of course, the news companies were given Sylar's police investigations and convictions file as opposed to the one they had on him at the company. Well, same thing, he was a serial killer who cut heads open anyway, only worse. The simple watchmaker had no reason to go on killing sprees, other than being a psychopath. No intuitive aptitude, no hunger, no connections to his biological family were written down there. 

Grace continued sweetly, "I'm not going to thank you, because I can't. What you have done is beyond what anybody can say or do for you. But to give you an idea on what's going on out there in the world while you're recuperating here, look at the little screen," she indicated one of the monitors they have brought in with themselves, "this is the statue of you that has been erected of you in Washington this morning, but there are at least five of you all over the world. Thanks are pouring in. This is the steady row of trucks full of letters that are coming to our news station only, some of them are like prayers asking you various things as if you were some kind of god. Listen in to the crowd gathered at your statue on Capitol Hill:" The camera showed the multitude, masses of people till the eyes could see, then zoomed on in those in the first rows. 

"He is our savior!" A middle aged woman said into the microphone through her tears. 

"We give our undying devotion," shouted a teenager girl next to her. 

"What brilliance and strength! Those two men, just by themselves have done something that six billion people were not able to!" A police officer added. 

"They are almighty gods, they are not men," an elderly woman held and hung on to the barrier to kneel down before the sculpture, "gods to fear if you've done anything against them." 

"You mean killing machine, not hero," a young man shouted in. 

"Good he was on our side,"the first woman, who had previously called him a savior maintained. 

"We'll have to obey him till the end of time, or he'll kill us all," another voice was heard, but the face belonging to it was not shown. 

Sylar looked on warily, taking a glance at Claire in confusion. Yes, he wanted redemption, he wanted the chance to connect, he'd craved for love, but this was none of these. This was madness. Grace confirmed his suspicions after the footage was paused, "and that's just some of the opinions and they are well divided as you can see. However, this god, whatever you wanted to call him is real as opposed to the ones we came to question and have not seen evidence of for centuries. Accessible to eyes and senses, what's more, tangible! And I'm going to touch him now, just to prove to you all just that!" The reporter reached out and held his hand, "oh wow!" 

Claire was listening carefully, rather thrown herself, although she had expected people to react like that when they found out that their savior was a serial killer. Sylar looked uncomfortable and he shivered at the reporter's touch. Whatever he had found in the famous woman's thoughts and desires were not favorable, Claire would've bet on that. She really didn't like where this was heading.

"When I had been given the exclusive right to interview Peter Petrelli, he had said that he always tries not to think of himself as the big hero. He said he was just fortunate enough with his abilities to be able to do what had to be done. He looked a little shy," Grace added in all likelihood for her own benefit, not at all shyly, "how do you feel about having probably saved most human beings?" 

"I thought about it as an opportunity, my chance to redeem myself. I have made many mistakes in the past," Sylar claimed, hoping that this time he will be believed. He had said it so many times before. 

"Was that the biggest factor in your decision to avert disaster?" Grace continued matter of factly, as if she didn't know that her words were meant to sting and degrade his intentions.

The question was clearly a trap, but Sylar nodded before explaining, "I would be lying if I'd tell you that I was not driven by selfish reasons. I'd prefer to have a home, people to talk to, clear air to breathe as opposed to dust clouds. And most importantly, I saved the world because the person I love is in it." 

"Was the world not worth saving otherwise?" The next question came too quickly. 

Sylar shook his head sideways slowly, "I don't have illusions about humankind. I see it as it is. With the good and the bad, its beauty and all the deceit. The universe had always intrigued me, but I have never had a reason to love the world, not until I met her. I never knew that somebody can be good, exemplary, you know, inherently good, who would be a waste corrupting." 

"Hm. Don't you think saying that about the human race is a little harsh given you were wanted for murder in sixteen states? That's all gone now of course, all clean, you can start afresh. It's the least the government can do for you." 

Sylar sighed dejectedly. He was supposed to be the hero, so why did it feel like the interviewer kept attacking him. 

"You'd be surprised what the government can do for me," he groaned, promoting Claire to put a hand on his arm. It was partly why she was there, to deter the conversation for the company's sake if the need arose. It was the easy part, what she didn't have any idea was how to stop him from an outburst if he got pissed off with Grace's interviewing style, justified or not. 

Just like the little blond feared, Sylar was too focused on the verbal attack and how the media wanted to present him. His hands balled into fists and her effort to attract his attention went almost unnoticed. Somewhere in the back of his mind a mechanism automatically set into motion, guided by his empathy by touch. Cortex and temporal lobes bridged pathways and attempted to communicate, but the message never fully registered. 

Claire was weary and apprehensive, and she conferred a certain concern, not only because the potentially escalating situation, but also for his wellbeing, of what could happen to a recovering power addict if he gets disillusioned again by people who have no idea about living with abilities and could only ever see them as mutants and threats. In more peaceful circumstances, Claire's thoughts and emotions and the very fact of her having some regard for him, would've been a lifeline for Sylar, on the short and long term also. With them being on the peripheries of his awareness right now, he was lost in the heat of the situation. She was wrong about one thing though. It wasn't the anger and wish for vengeance that built in him as a result of the provocations, but a resignation that he could change nothing, that Gabriel will always have to be the persona he once chose to be by a fatal mistake. Sylar. A thought that was nothing short of the danger he could be, when hell bent on delivering personal justice. 

The newswoman, with a good nose for sensationalist journalism, picked up on the double meaning to do with the government right away. Nothing better, than a good scandal, either party the victim, "do you think the government had treated you unfairly at any point in the past?" 

He snorted and even Claire had to give a little humph. Let's just not go there. "As you can see he's tired out by the talking. The interview was supposed to be short," taking advantage of the fact that Sylar did not say anything, she used the excuse Angela has earlier advised her she should. She felt like she had to move fast. Perhaps Sylar was a different person now, but the old him would've never put up with such insolence towards him. 

"Just one more question," Grace would not give up that easily of course, "in the view of your new life as a result of you given us ours, what are your strengths and what are the areas you wanna work on?" Meaning, thank you for saving us, but the world is really uncomfortable as savior with a serial killer who has numerous abilities. 

Sylar did not make eye contact. You could tell he did not expect this. Could life be worse now, than before he had saved the planet? He winced, "I'm sorry, I'm having trouble concentrating because of the pain," he made a vague gesture towards his midsection. 

"Oh, that's unfortunate, isn't it?" Went Grace. She never liked it when her interviewee tried to direct her. She smiled into the camera nevertheless, "you have seen the Grace Ratter Exclusive with our hero, Gabriel. We'll learn more about him soon." 

The once cheerleader sighed in relief, glad that Sylar was playing along. It wasn't until everyone else left the room that she realized he was not lying. Leaning back onto the pillows, he grunted faintly, holding his stomach with splayed out fingers. Claire knew however, that it wasn't the physical pain that wore him out. Her negative hunches about Grace and the world's perspective on what has happened had come true. People wanted to continue living, but not with the price of having to accept the freaklike with abilities. It would not be very long before everything went back to evolved humans being hunted. 

Sylar shut the outside world out as much as he could by shutting his eyes. He wouldn't ask for help. In his mind, he deserved all the pain as punishment for his past. He had thought that he had atoned for his sins with stopping collision, but apparently not. A feeling of powerlessness and hopelessness filled his heart and it made him feel queasy and lightheaded, prompting the necessity for flight. It was hot and close and cramped and he had to get out of there. There was no point to this at all, no point to trying to prove himself if he had to do it over and over again and it would never be sufficient. He may as well let go and let his abilities take over, blind him, control him to an extent nothing hurt anymore. Lips firmly squeezed together, his eyes snapped open, somewhat deepened, wild and glittering, lost in between his proud defiance and the burning hell of his conscience, his humanity sorely patent and Claire got a glimpse of that confused, lonely little boy who's fate it was to be cursed by not just a monstrous ability, but parents who were either too weak, too middling, or too evil to teach him how to live. 

She stared, hesitating. Sylar could get over everything, couldn't he? Despite the curious feeling passing into her, wanting to take his pain away, she decided he will get no help from her because he did not deserve it, after what he had done to her and her family. Claire felt herself froze in the inside. She was doing it too, the very same thing she felt was unfair from others. She had to do it right, even if she would be the only one. The little blond reached out to squeeze his hand in a simple gesture of comfort. She wasn't sure how much was she ready for such a role herself, but it was a start. It was the touch that stood between him and the darkness. 

Tbc

Chapter 13: The Opposite of Antitrust 

Shadows rose, calling out to the evil in his soul and he let them. No longer wanting them buried, Sylar half consciously welcomed the dark feeling, black, cold and heavy that he knew offered him a form of salvation by switching his shame and fear of solitude into a misguided optimism that he could change the world by force. A utopia that never happened and had not much chance of happening, but where the darkness blinded his mind enough not to think of the alternative. Then suddenly, the protective cover of darkness enveloping him weakened, howling in a hungriness it knew would not be satisfied this time. 

Sylar winced. For a moment he had no idea what was going on. He groaned, concentrating on the well-set lightning that made the dark clouds fade somehow. He did not care what was trying to pull him out of his nightfall, he simply clang to the hand conveying understanding and solace through his empathic link. 

Claire's voice was soft as she called out his name, over and over again. Not aware of his inner struggles, she was concerned for his well-being. At first, he seemed overtaken by physical discomfort, aggravated by the completely ridiculous behavior of a news' reporter who made her money and career sniffing out scandals, which upset him enough to lead him into a frenzy where he made an effort trying to get out of bed, despite his condition and the tubes attached to him. She had to catch him as he faltered forward and ease him back onto the bed. 

As if waking, Sylar blinked his eyes rapidly. He shook his head, trying to clear his head of the last remains of the darkness. In his mind, he thought he was up against his evil tendencies and he never realized he was actually only fighting the darkness that threatened to overcome him as he almost passed out again. 

"Take it easy, Sylar," Claire's voice called him back to the moment with a warm undertone he had never heard before. It remained however, determined and focused, just like everything she was doing in life. Without knowing what she wanted to do with her probably long existence, she had an odd sense of purpose, designed to defy her own note of pain, coming from the shadows of her past. "You are not gonna regain your strength like this," she scolded soothingly, though she knew that wouldn't happen in there while the company had the opposite intention, even if she wasn't sure she would be happy seeing him in full control of his powers again. She wasn't going to dwell on it however at the moment and poured a cup of water for him that she raised to his dry mouth, hoping it would help bring clarity to his mind. 

Sylar welcomed the taste of the lovely, ice cold water and pressed the cup against his lips willingly. His thirst sated, he took a deep breath, trying to focus on her by smoothing his dark hair back, away from his eyes. "Those people are crazier than I am," he said slightly nervously, wondering how much of his psychological wobble registered with his favorite immortal. 

"That is one reason why you shouldn't hurry so outside," she told him. 

"I will be out of here in a couple of days," he claimed, regaining his confidence enough to produce his trademark smirk, "advice or not." 

Claire smiled automatically. How typical of him to attempt the customarily impossible. If he failed, he'd just try again. "I don't doubt it," she rolled her eyes at the machoness in him trying to impress her. "But I don't want you to do that. I don't want you to disappear and make up your own absurd agenda on how to make me accept you in a future we are cursed to share." Maybe it wasn't fair, but she was going to use her greatest card against him, that he allegedly loved her and wished for something similar in return. Because if there was an ounce of something in him worthy of redeeming, absolving or saving, she certainly should not let him out her sight to deal with it by himself. 

He wasn't able to. The abilities collector tilted his head, "you want me to stay here so that your father and grandmother could live out their sadistic tendencies, is it?" 

"I want you to stay here because there's nothing out there for you amongst the multitude that would either dread you, worship you, or perhaps that is the very same thing. And most of all, I want you to stay here because I'm asking." 

Sylar looked at her long, visibly contemplating. The situation certainly had no precedence. Claire has never asked him to remain at the facility before. It might just be the greatest drug anybody could ever come up to medicate him with into cooperation. But he was not known for settling for what was on offer. "What's in it for me, then?" He teased, just to see if he could get away with it, but the look in his eyes told her he was deadly serious and it had nothing to do with negotiating terms. 

"You'll get the chance to mess with my mind and I'll enjoy it too. A chance to a life you might want," she said mysteriously, "please," she added with a indefinite expression on her face that made him think of her wanting to punish him personally in ways he would not entirely consider unpleasant. It would've been nice if he could touch her right now, to know for sure if she had any of the indecent thoughts he was toying about with.

"A friend would be nice," he gave, "a very close, open minded friend," he jested, double meanings flying. He'd always had a lot of fun playing that game with her. "All right," he rolled his head back, uttering the words slowly, "in that case I guess I'm staying for a while." 

Claire nodded and set off into the direction of the door, pleased with herself. Mission complete. Then as if remembering something, she turned back, "don't get too cocky. I might feel the need for killing you again." 

"Momentary elation, miserable ever after. Trust me on this, Claire," he relaxed back. There was no threat. Not while that blond hottie was looking at him like that. 

Tbc

Chapter 14: Experimental Condition 

Claire set out to talk to Peter with the intention of finding out what he had thought of the recent developments, but she ended up literally backtracking, fearing she was intruding into his intimacy. It wasn't as much that her uncle and Emma was hugging each other tight, their bodies smoothly following the contour of one another, but the fact that Peter had his head buried in her chest in a more crestfallen, rather than sexed way. Guessing that perhaps mind reading worm him out again to an extent he needed to take comfort in his friend in peace, Claire decided she would be best waiting till later with her inquiries. 

The door however, did not cooperate with her plan and caused both a creaking noise and a gust of wind, alerting the pair to her presence. Peter straighted up at once, and drew away from his blond, his hand moving down from her back to grasp her hand instead. "Not wanting to come forward till the last minute to offer his help, I don't blame Sylar for it one bit. You won't believe what they wanted to do to Emma just because she was seen on screen in here caring for Sylar. I expected we would have lack of privacy anywhere we go for a while, being surrounded by reporters and anything we do labeled newsworthy, be it holding hands like this or going to the lavatory! I did not expect they would stick their heads into her past and belitter her on grounds they have no idea about, interrogate her on what hidden agendas the worlds' so called saviors might have, or question her loyalties to her profession while completely disregarding her disability and not even allowing her enough time to understand the questions, nor give her the chance to answer something to all those inquiries! No, they make up their minds all by themselves! And then they scare her, almost suffocate her, give her no escape!" 

"Calm down, Peter!" Emma turned his face in line with hers for a moment. She could not understand his every word, but it was obvious he was too worked up for his own good. He nodded and sighed, taking her request on board by continuing on a calmer voice, "making a long story short, I had to borrow one of the prisoners' psychokinesis and go down to rescue her." 

"They were not happy," Emma assured, half proud with her hero, half disturbed with the whole ordeal, "so much for a normal life." 

"Claire," Peter started gravely, "I have no intentions of living my life tripping over statues of myself and being continuously asked to perform miracles that I either have no power over, or the recipient would not deserve. We have to stop this lunacy! It would be the right thing to do, for all involved. That is why me and Emma are planning to leave. She could change her hairstyle, I would take shapeshifting and we would lay low for a while." 

Her niece shook her head vehemently, "you can not leave Sylar as the sole hero out in the open. It'll make matters worse, not better." 

"Who do you think I'm planning to acquire shapeshifting ability from? We could offer him the same thing and take him with us. I have all the security codes necessary from when I had mind reading. Busting him out is no problem. It only leaves one question unopened. Are you coming?" 

Claire did not hesitate. What would she leave behind? A fallen apart family? Individuals she could not connect to, no matter how she tried? The goals and choices of people that were different than her? It has been a long while since it felt like anything other than void was around her. "Anywhere. But how we gonna do it? We're surrounded by the helicopters, vans and buses of media crews. I bet some orbiting satellites would be tuned into this direction too. My dad would have some tabs on just in case and I have no idea where Hiro is." 

"It's disguising that cheerleader body of yours that could be our biggest problem," Emma ventured. 

"It's not as if you could have plastic surgery," Peter agreed, although jokingly. It seemed that his girlfriend's presence made him more lax to allow his contemplative and serious-minded nature such lightness. 

"I wouldn't worry about any of it. We'll have Sylar, with an arsenal of abilities I can choose from," he continued on the same laid-back, humorous tone, perhaps wanting to make the ladies feel more relaxed about their impending venture. He had to get them out of there, for their own good, so the how didn't really matter as much. 

tbc

Chapter 15: Major Distance 

Two weeks later "I guess the people who said living in the mountains meant more snow were serious!" Peter joked again as he turned away from the window and towards Emma so it was easier for her to lipread him. 

She smiled back at him, the glint in her eyes showing her joyfulness more than any sound could. It was certainly the snowiest either of them has ever seen, up there in the Carpathian Mountains of East Europe. With the air crispy given the low temperatures, the view seemed endless, and the bright snow a constant factor. 

The other was the motionless quiet, the vastness of the scenery settling on their souls the same way for both, undisturbed by colorful sound waves, or auditory interference. The scenery was breathtaking, yet it had little to do with the peace that resided over Peter's mind. To share this experience with who he felt could complement him, his soulmate, was everything. 

Emma marveled at him instead. She had never seen him so untroubled and peaceful, with a smile that never left his warm, deep brown chocolate eyes. Emma knew it couldn't last. With her by his side, or not, he would get restless sooner or later, fly off on some cause that deserved his attention, some dispute that endangered lives. She wouldn't have come to love him if it wasn't him of course, kind, accepting, bold and sensitive. But right now, she had him, strong arms around her waist, secure and protective, away from temptations and the chaos of the world. As if responding to an unseen signal they leaned towards each other at the same time. 

Their lips met in a sweetly frantic union, combining love and lust and meaning. The blond parted her mouth, asking silently for more. Tongues caressed one another and she could feel him going bolder, hands exploring, shaft hardening. Yet he was still caressing lightly, wandering down agonizingly slow. Emma moaned instinctively, the sound leaving her mouth naturally. His sensual touch was a language that did need no hearing. His palms reached the bottom of her short dress and slid under, stroking her hips, with a tentative assent towards her breasts. He was tracing the line of her contour gently, making it obvious that their encounter will not be as unrestrained and famished as their other times had been. 

She took on his pace, beginning to trail her lips lazily along his jaw and sensitive earlobes, till she could whisper, "loving the touch," making the extra effort to vocalize her feelings for his benefit. So when they momently parted to pull each other hand in hand towards the spacious bed close to the crackling fire of the chalet's many bedrooms, he couldn't keep the silly, doting smile off his face. She was so considerate, appreciative and virtuous, as much regarding her moral grounds as she was in intimate relations. Beautiful, inside out, there was no other word for it. Therefore it came pretty natural to him that when they sat down on the covers he used his momentarily free hands and signed the almost only expression he knew how to in sign language: I love you. 

Emma reciprocated with a hug, just leaning her forehead against his chest for a while and Peter got reminded again of how she could express things wordlessly a lot better than anyone not deaf. Her embrace felt making love in itself, only it was so much more. Eagerness boiled in him as a result and he dropped his head onto her shoulder to kiss the sensitive skin of her neck. Trying to be patient did not work. He had to have her now. Grabbing under her thighs, he pulled her onto his lap with her long legs around his waist. His eyes shone with an arousal she could not ignore that she reacted to by helping him get rid of both his shirt and her dress and cupping his buttocks to pull herself closer still. Every other sense of hers than hearing was more sensitive than average, she liked the way he tasted and parts of her skin grew even more erogenous as he moved his lips to continue down to her breasts, where his tongue enticed her till her nipples were as hard as his own erection. 

Urgency sweeping down their nerve endings, fingers searched for fingers, skin was seeking out skin, hearts making an excited leap in speed. His thumb slipped into her panties from the side and she nearly shot up and off him when she touched her spot out of the blue. She willed herself to press against his hand instead, moist warmth signaling her need. He would never deny her anything. Even if he was nearly loosing it, he was wanting to give her enjoyment as much as he desired his own. He focused his attention on the delicate bundle of nerves of her clitoris, pressing, teasing, experimenting to find the right chords with her willing help. Her open personality did not disappoint. She led him, moving into his touch, rocking as if to give him pointers. He was so close to where she wanted him to be, but not close enough. On a sudden impulse that craved for satisfaction, she  
reached between them and pulled his fiery, compliant cock out his jogging bottoms. Jumping into place as if housebroken, the straining, slick tip of his shaft slid over the surface of her clit and she became the most naturally vocal once again... 

tbc

Chapter 16: Figure of Speech 

Across the wall, in the room adjacent, Claire was idly making paths in the forest of Sylar's chest hairs with her index finger. Here she was, lying in bed beside the sleeping beast and she was only weirded out by the fact she did not feel weirded out. The young beauty mostly found these moments when he was deep asleep and she wasn't, slightly awkward as a result, times when his fine tuned to little Claire Bennet empathy by touch was dormant along with the rest of him, not at the ready to meet her every need, let that be the soap bar, an impassioned assault of her mouth, providing a punchbag for one of her fits, or being left alone with her swirling thoughts. 

Two weeks ago, Claire had left the States a virgin, a condition she had kept to because, circumstances or not, there has never been anyone she could give herself fully over to. It would've involved a certain trust, being able to be comfortable with the venture, and last, but not least, clinging to the illusion of herself as daddy's little girl in the bubble, that in reality had burst years ago. But most importantly it was because nobody had so far ignited the need in her for intimacy, beyond the experimental touches and kisses. The immortal blond gazed down at the virtually naked, gorgeous man she could call hers. 

Sylar had been trying hard to please her, sway her, charm her, a little too much perhaps. Claire had stopped doubting his feelings for her very soon after their arrival in Europe and as soon as that was clear, so it was the fact that it was her responsibility to keep the hiding monster away from the full moon, perhaps for eternity. The indestructible girl wasn't happy about it, not at first. Her physical attraction she could easily discount as too nonrational, as everything hormonal normally would be. Destiny, she could not. It has been once prophesized that saving the cheerleader would save the world and so far, that claim did not seem to mean anything in any form, no matter in what perspective she looked at it. She had never saved the world, directly, or indirectly. Instead, she was still puzzled by the idea of this important person she was supposed to be. But didn't Sylar say he had stopped the asteroid mainly for her? Wouldn't he kick the holy hell out of anything any time that had threatened her or what was important for her? Not to mention, saving the world from the mass killer Sylar could count as well. Studying her lover, (lover?? When did she start thinking of Sylar that way? And why did it not take much getting used to?), she had to notice how relaxed he seemed, breathing soft and his features calm, so far from his tortured look from the facility and that of the obsessed and focussed appearance of the serial killer's she was starting to forget existed. With the positive effects of the calmness residing within him when she was with him, sleeping seemed to make his face look further seductively vulnerable, accentuated by the pale glow of his skin against his long, dark eyelashes and body hair. Vulnerable, like she had learned he really was, easily thrown by past ghosts and fighting with his biggest enemy, himself. Claire wondered whether it was only that she wanted to see him vulnerable, or was it the truth. If he was the weak one, she did not have to feel afraid. Her brow furrowed when thinking about the possibilities that lay within the darkness of his mind, but her concern focussed more on what the world could bestow upon them, like it did before. 

They had been through so much, relatively young and barely scratching the surface of their long, immortal lives in length, and Claire had a feeling the future was only going to get more complicated. It wouldn't matter as much now, not when they had each other. Settling against the smooth skin of his hips, her fingers were wondering automatically and had covered his entire muscled upper body by now. Smiling about her own mischievous nature that she inflicted on an unsuspecting, sleeping man, she couldn't resist the urge to run her palm under the covers and round his dormant cock to test how long did it take till she got some kind of response. 

His member felt snug and warm between her fingers and she noted with pleasure that she didn't have to start from the beginning. Perhaps it was her earlier, idle ministrations, or simply her closeness, but he was already half aroused. She paused, her hand coming to a halt at the base of his penis, caught up in what was before her eyes. Claire could only guess, but her presumption was that not every manhood looked as inviting and perfect, thick and long and with wide veins running along it and she knew it was a kind she loved. With the taunting view, it took some concentration for her to start moving her hand to grasp him and rub the sensitive flesh gently, only wanting to wake his manhood, but not the whole of him. Her gaze did not waver though and a surge of excitement went through her when she saw his cock quivering through its full length as if a wave would've passed along it. He sighed in his sleep, hardening and strained reflexively to thrust into her touch when suddenly his eyes opened to look at her. She would never know how his gaze could be so deep even when freshly awakened. 

"Enough…" He breathed out. It was intended as a command, but the way she messed with him, a moan was all he could manage.

She looked up at him only for a millisecond. "How? Some other body parts of yours seem to think otherwise," she teased. 

"Not like that." This time he got himself together so that he could voice it like on order, like what he would expect from himself. He raised himself on an elbow to kiss her pink lips gently before he tasted her. It was the sweet and innocent expression of his love for her, but oh, how intense a tiny motion could be! "That is not how you make love, little Claire," he turned to press against her and when his hot, hard length pressed insistently against her stomach she knew that her teasing job was done and they were fully in business. 

She let out a small moan of appreciation at the hardness pressing into her skin and pushed herself against his erection more. Sylar shook his head with a sinning grin and used his kinetic ability to slide her body a little down under him so that the head of his cock was now pressing to her mound all of a sudden. "This is how you make love. If you want to," he teased. 

"Oh, god, yes," she breathed, threading her fingers into his long hair to pull his mouth onto her again. Strong arms enfolded her into their warm protection, tender and needy at the same time. The sweet, soft, wet warmness of his lips came down on her beautiful white breasts, caressing and lightly squeezing both till her entire body responded, making her melt into liquid too. She rocked and arched and melted into him, finding how it increased the pleasure. 

Sylar reached down, touching her with the assurance of an experienced couple. Two weeks in a small room spent together was a long time. A little on the rough side, he bit into her skin, while circling her clit with a couple of pressing fingers, making her hover in between pleasure and pain. She wanted it bad, he did need no empathic ability to determine that. Her thinking became hazy, she found it hard to talk, or even formulate a conscious thought. But before she was lost in the moment, desperate to stop with the messing about and have him inside her, she had finally decided that normalcy was overrated. She could not swim against the current regarding her ability as much as she could not deny her feelings for Sylar. How could she ever imagine herself living with a regular Joe? Repeating the same boring life over and over? Their lives stretched out before her with superb possibilities for the first time and his "I love you"s between kisses made her feel free. It had never been about forgiveness. It was about love. 

The End.


End file.
